Liquor is Quicker
by theRevenent
Summary: After losing both job and home, Casey Leigh ends up living with the Amazing Chocolateer. Soon, she is forced to choose between happiness and self-respect. Rated M for eventual swearing, drug use, and jail-bait.
1. Prologue

TITLE: Liquor is Quicker

RATING: M for Jailbait, Swearing, and various other situations

SUMMARY: After getting caught with marijuana, Casey Leigh pays for her mistake with job and home. When she finds herself living with the amazing chocolateer, she has to make a difficult decision and choose between happiness and self-respect. (Slightly A/U, WW/OC)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own CatCF, or WWatCF. Last I checked, it was Roald Dahl's brainchild. I take no credit for the books or movies, nor am I trying to make a quick buck off them.

PROLOGUE

_December_

It takes a while for me to recognize the shapely blonde in shades, a black antique fur coat, and a maroon Flapper dress. She stands outside the café next door reading Nabokov's _Lolita_ while smoking a cigarette. But when I do recognize her on my way into the candy store where I work, my face lights up.

"Bernadette!" I cry. The blonde looks up. Pulling the shades down the bridge of her nose, she gives me the once-over with her hazel eyes. Then she smiles.

"Casey! Oh, hello!"

Bernadette holds out her arms to me. I'm pulled into a hug. She smells like old perfume and cigarette smoke. She then holds me out at arm's length, surveying me with a smile on her Bordeaux lips.

"Honey, you look so different," Bernadette comments. It's true.

Bernadette is twenty to my sixteen. We've always been friends, ever since we met in middle school. Two years ago, she moved so she could attend college. And now, seeing her again, I can't describe how I feel.

But the truth in her comment lies in the fact that I used to be very preppy when I was fourteen. Now, while I can't quite put a label on what I am, I can certainly say with truth that I've become more alternative. When I dressed in the types of stuff that could be found at Old Navy, I now find myself going through the racks at Buffalo Exchange, Modified, and Naked City to find what I want to wear. But my music taste has changed as well. I've gone from cheesy hip-hop to things like The Offspring, Queen, David Bowie (whom I idolized), Michael Jackson, Bon Jovi, Manson, and Creature Feature.

"God, I know, right?" I say with a laugh. Some habits of mine will never go away, but it doesn't matter. I'm just happy to see Bernadette again. "So, what're you doing here?"

"I transferred, Doll. I was just at a two-year college."

"And your major?"

"Art."

I grin. "That's so you."

Now, Bernadette laughs. "Yes, isn't it? Now. Stay awhile. Talk. We need to catch up."

I shrug with a sigh. "I can't. I've got work." As I say this, I jerk my thumb toward the candy store. Bernadette looks up at it.

"You work there? Is Charlie there?"

"Yeah. I'll talk later. I gotta get inside."

I hug Bernadette one last time before darting into the store. A warm blast of air greets me as I do so. This is the start of a story I never thought would unfold.

------------

Later, I find myself in Bernadette's apartment. It looks very vintage cabaret, as does everything about her. There are nineteenth century lamps standing on old wooden tables next to antique couches and armchairs. The lighting is dim, but that's just how Bernadette likes it. On the walls are Edward Gorey prints, and sitting on the couch, smoking a clove cigarette, is her rockabilly boyfriend, Ricky.

Bernadette gives him a nudge. "Hey, Ricky, I brought someone for you to meet."

Ricky looks up at me. I smile awkwardly. "Yo. What doth be existing in an upward manner?"

"Where'd you find this girl?" Ricky asks with a laugh.

"At the Lone Fir," Bernadette jokes. "No, actually, I've known her for awhile. This is Casey--the kid I told you about."

I bristle at being called a kid. Ricky tilts his head, then a look of recognition appears on his face.

"Oh. That's you! Bernadette's told me about you. Here. Pound it." He holds out his fist as he says this, and I thus proceed to 'Pound it', as he instructed.

"Wanna stay for dinner?" Bernadette asks. She's already hung up her coat on the tree next to the door, and, as my eyes adjust to the dimness of the room, I can see her bustling around in the kitchen.

"Um, yeah, sure," I reply.

"Great. Hey, Rick, put on some Cherry Poppin' Daddies, will ya?"

"Yeah," he replies.

I sit down on a fainting couch and watch as he pops a CD into a CD player made to look like an old-time victrola. After a few seconds, swing music fills the apartment. I nod along to the beat.

Ricky grins. "You like this?"

I nod. "It's catchy. Like the plague."

He laughs at my dark humor. "Nice."


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER : I don't own. So don't sue.**

**A/N ** **: Yeah… What little I know about pot and that kinda thing is from when I dated a stoner. I'm friends with a couple as well. (Don't mistake me for a stoner, though, because I'm not. I just know some.)**

**---------- **

**ONE **

**It isn't until we sit down to some spaghetti that I remember how good Bernadette's cooking is. From my peripheral vision I can see the shocked look on Bernadette's face as I wolf down my food. It's that fucking good.**

"**I take it you like the spaghetti?" Bernadette hazards. I nod.**

"**It's like a fucking orgasm in my mouth," I reply.**

**Ricky and Bernadette laugh. At this, I look up and raise a brow.**

"**What? What's so funny?"**

**Ignoring my question, Ricky turns to Bernadette. "See? This is why you should get a job at a restaurant."**

"**For the thousandth time, Ricky, I won't. I wanna be an artist. Why's that so hard to understand?" She pauses, but before Ricky can speak, she goes on. "Oh. It's the starving artist thing again, isn't it?"**

"**Yeah. You'd be dead before any of your sh--I mean, stuff** **--would sell."**

**Bernadette rolls her eyes. Then she smiles at me. "Sorry, doll. I don't mean to air out my dirty laundry in front'a ya."**

**I shrug. "Go on. It's fascinating."**

**She smiles again but just shakes her head.**

"**Oh, I got a dub today. Wanna smoke it?" Ricky says, as if he's just remembered to mention it.**

**Bernadette's smile turns into a grin. "Hell yeah!"**

**I tilt my head. "…dub? What the fuck's a dub?"**

**Bernadette looks at me. "You'll see."**

**--**

**Oh my God you guys have pot."**

**Bernadette and Ricky both give me looks that are both convey seeming irritated-ness yet entertainment at the same time. Bernadette is placing pot in the bowl of her pink-and-purple pipe as she does so.**

"**Yeah. You wanna try it, Doll?"**

**I bite my lip. I know I shouldn't. It's illegal, and from what those commercials on the boob tube say, it fucks up my relationships and my school career and that shit.**

**Despite this, I shrug. I've always been curious about pot, and I don't want to look like a lame goody-two-shoes in front of Bernadette and Ricky.**

"**Sure."**

**Bernadette nods. "Alright. C'mere, hun."**

**I sit down on the couch beside her and she shows me how to use the pipe. My thumb is over a hole next to the bowl, and my lips are pressed against a larger hole opposite to the one that's covered. She activates her lighter and lights the pot. I inhale.**

**The taste is disgusting, but that doesn't stop me from inhaling anyway. I hear Bernadette exclaim, "Hey, stop, that's too much!"**

**My lungs burn. Not just burn like I've coughed a lot or some shit, but actually ** _**burn** _ **. I hold the pipe away and exhale, but that doesn't help any. My lungs are still burning. I erupt into a coughing fit that leaves me trembling and teary-eyed. My lungs have surpassed burn now--they're on fucking fire! I'm so caught up in the coughing fit that I don't notice Ricky getting up off the couch and entering the kitchen to grab something.**

**When he comes back, he has a glass of soda in his hand. I swig, and soon my chest and throat are relieved of the pain.**

"**God," I wheeze. Bernadette smiles ruefully.**

"**Yeah, that happens," she says by way of apology.**

"**Whaddya think?" Ricky asks.**

"**It tastes like shit."**

"**You'll get used to it."**

**I look up at him. The taste of pot, as well as a vaguely charred taste, lingers behind the taste of the grapefruit soda.**

**Bernadette inhales the smoke and holds her breath. As she passes the pipe to Ricky, she says, "Cherry," while holding her breath. I tilt my head.**

"**Cherry?" Here I begin to understand there is more to pot-ness than just the smoking of it. There seems to be a language to go with it as well.**

"_**Cherry** _ **means it's still lit," Ricky explains. He inhales the smoke from the pipe.**

**Bernadette then exhales. Ricky hands the pipe to her and she looks over at me. "You wanna try again?"**

**I sip on the soda, remembering the pain in my chest--which is just starting to go away--and the horrible taste. Bernadette's look becomes critical, as if she's already passing some sort of judgment on me. It's because of this that I nod.**

"**Yeah. Give it here."**


End file.
